The Love of an Angel
by I heart scrawny Jewish boys
Summary: Angel learns to live, love, and learn. Except it's not cheesy like that. It's good.


Warnings: some harsh language, a little foreplay. Nothing to write your congressman about.  
Disclaimer: Not mine

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Angel had always fallen in love easily. At the age of five, he fell in love with his older sister's clutch purse, madly and deeply. Unfortunately, it was not to be. The first time Rita wore it out dancing, it met with an unfortunate puddle, never again to shine with its former glory. From then on, Angel was devoted to his search for a love that would never fade.

When Angel was eight, he started experiencing a fluttering sensation coming considerably south of his stomach every time his friend Robert put an arm around him. It confused him, but then his eyes fell on one of the books in the library called u It's Perfectly Normal /u . The butterflies the book talked about seemed to be exactly what he was feeling. Love, then, he realized. It must be love.

At the age of twelve, Angel's history teacher kept him after school to discuss grades. "Angel," Mr. Ryan began, "I know the other boys tease you here."

Angel fixed his eyes on the floor, embarrassed. "Yes, sir." His brother had told him it was his own fault, that he shouldn't give them reasons to make fun of him, but he didn't mean to, after all.

"I just want to tell you," the teacher continued with a caring expression on his face, "it's not your fault."

Angel looked up, surprised. "What do you mean?"

Mr. Ryan uncrossed his arms, leaning back against his desk. "Angel, sometimes people make fun of other people because they don't understand them. Those boys in your class, they only make fun of you because you scare them." He held up a gentle hand, forestalling Angel's protest. "I know, you haven't done anything wrong. These boys, they've just never met anyone like you."

Angel ducked his head again. "I don't know why everyone's so mad at me all the time. I thought in America, it was good to be different," he said quietly. "Mama said that's why she and Papa came here."

"There's different kinds of being different," the teacher said carefully. "Angel...you don't like girls, do you?"

Angel's eyes shot up, staring into his teacher's eyes. "Wh—of course I do. Some of my best friends are girls!"

Mr. Ryan chuckled. "I don't mean like that. I mean, you don't have crushes on girls, do you?"

There was a long silence, during which a quiet blush crept onto Angel's cheeks. "No," he finally answered. "I... I don't."

He was surprised by the smile that suddenly graced his teacher's face. "I thought so," he said, souding a little satisfied. "I just want to tell you, even though it might seem like you're all alone... you aren't."

"I... I'm not?" This was news to Angel. Of course he had heard of famous people like Elton John and Liberace, but never anyone he had ever known.

"No, you aren't. And no matter what anyone might tell you, it's not wrong, or sick, or bad."

Angel had fallen quite deeply in love with Mr. Ryan. The teacher was nearly arrested when it was discovered that he was spending so much time with Angel after school, and had to transfer districts just to escape the blatantly untrue rumors.

He was certainly in love with his first boyfriend, an assertive boy named James. Well, Angel thought of him as his boyfriend, even though James said over and over that the hurried groping sessions in back of the school, in his parents' basement, in an old warehouse were all just 'fooling around,' and secrets at that. Eventually, James' parents pulled him out of school and sent him to be 'reformed,' leaving another hole in Angel's tender heart next to his teacher, best friend, and sister's purse.

Angel's first real relationship had to be love, he knew beyond a doubt. He had felt so much more for Justin than for anyone who had gone before, it could be nothing but love. Justin took the title for the first man to profess love back at Angel, whispered the coveted words in hushed tones in the backseat of his car, intent on one thing only.

Justin passed out of Angel's life eventually, leaving another tiny hole. It was then that the frequency of his loves began to speed up; Andrew, Consuelo, Chaim, Reuben, Jason, and two or three whose names he couldn't quite remember. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved each of them; every one of them was a walking miracle, something just waiting to be loved. He had never been a stingy person, which also meant he never had any money. Not that he ever cared, of course.

The first time Angel lived with a man, he thought his heart would burst. Love had never been like this before. Aaron was everything he could ever want, he was sure. Kind, caring, devoted, and handsome. To top it off, he told Angel how much he loved him every single night. What could be better?

One night, Aaron came home late. His face was flushed, and he seemed jittery. "Angel?" He walked over to the couch, laying a hand on Angel's shoulder.

Angel started, surprised. "Hey, I didn't know you were home yet." He stretched luxuriously, smiling serenely up at his lover. "You have a good day?"

"Yeah, fine. Listen...Angel, I don't think this is working." Aaron fidgeted, seeming very nervous.

Angel bolted upright, not expecting anything of the sort. "What? What do you mean, not working?" Whatever he had thought Aaron meant by his cryptic message on the machine earlier, he had never imagined this was it.

"I just...it's not working. I'm sorry." Aaron wouldn't even meet his eyes now, fixating on the floor. "I think you should leave."

The last sentence was a blow to the chest, almost knocking the wind out of him. "Wh...what?" His eyes were wide, not accustomed to having his heart crushed. "Why?"

Aaron sighed, obviously uncomfortable. "There's someone else...his name is Daniel. I told him he could move in tonight."

Angel was quiet for a moment. He stood slowly, walking to the bedroom, throwing his things in one of Aaron's suitcases.

From behind him, Aaron protested, "Hey, that's my suitca--"

"Do you want me to scratch your fucking eyes out!" Angel shrieked suddenly, causing Aaron to back up in surprise. "I'm taking the suitcase, and I'm going to find someone who really fucking loves me!" He slammed the case shut, blinking the tears out of his eyes. "You get the hell out of my way!"

The string of men came in much more rapid succession after Aaron. Their names, if they were given, blended together in one long blur, along with faces and bodies. Night after night, club after club, man after man, Angel flitted aimlessly between them all. If no one would take care of his heart, he reasoned, why take care of his body? In losing his trust, Aaron had lost his trust for everyone. What mattered now, except to forget?

It was three months before he saw Aaron again. Making his dubious living as a dancer in one of the less reputable clubs, he heedlessly threw himself into the music, going home with a different man each night. He was essentially homeless; there was always a spot for him on his grandmother's floor if he made it up to 118th, but he seldom did.

He faltered in his dancing as he caught sight of a pair of eyes far too familiar. They were bloodshot now, haunted and despairing, but he would have known them anyway. They were watching him move, and he steadfastly ignored them. Aaron would go away, he reasoned, if he ignored him long enough. Sure enough, after a few minutes the eyes disappeared.

Later that evening, they made another appearance.

Angel let the man, taller than he, tougher, stronger, more brutal, push him up against the wall. He leaned into the touches drifting steadily lower, moaned as the man's rough hands brushed past the only thing that gave him pleasure anymore. A whimper escaped his throat, pleading for what the man was all too willing to give.

Just as the zipper was making its slow way down, a familiar voice spoke up from beside him, "Angel, I need to talk to you."

Angel froze, eyes flying open. "Go away," he said between gritted teeth as the man continued readying himself. "I'm busy."

The big man had just hoisted Angel up, pinning him hard against the wall, when Aaron blurted out, "You have to get checked for AIDS."

Angel's erstwhile partner dropped the young man like he had been burned, backing up. "Look," he muttered, "I can't…" He was gone in seconds.

Angel let out a whimper as he hit the ground, unprepared for the sudden shift in balance. As Aaron tried to extend a hand to help him up, he snapped, "Don't touch me!" He refastened the too-tight pants, glaring at his former lover. "What the hell did you tell him that for?"

"Because it's true." Aaron bit his lip, looking ashamed. "Daniel, you remember?"

Angel's glare could have pinned someone to the wall. "Of course I remember."

"He has it." Aaron swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. "And so do I."

If hearing that Aaron was leaving him had been a shock, this was an avalanche. "But…" Angel whispered, "when did you…"

"I don't know. All I know is, he had it before you left."

Two weeks can fly by, or they can drag. Waiting for test results that can confirm the end of one's life, two weeks can seem like ten or fifteen years, each day longer than the one before. It was the first time in months that Angel had felt conscious of being totally, completely alone. The difference between solitude and loneliness had never seemed so poignant.

In two weeks, Angel found out just how quickly a scrap of paper, hot off the press, can change a life.

He wanted to lock himself away, but he had no door. He wanted to lose himself like before, but couldn't take the chance of spreading it to someone else, hundreds of someones. He wanted to drink himself stupid, but had no more than a few dollars. He stopped showing up for work, stopped going to his grandmother's. Street corners and enclaves between doorways become beds if one is desperate and squints hard enough.

There were bad days, and there were worse days. Some days he was lucky enough to be left alone, others not nearly so much. His smile vanished. He sat on park benches, stairs, bridges. He watched the boats in the harbor, couples walking hand in hand, and thought bitter thoughts. He became obsessed with endings.

Although it seemed like an eternity, his depression lasted perhaps a week. There was still the unquenchable thirst for love, above all his never-ending optimism. Endings were really only segues, after all. A fall becomes a leap with the right attitude, and even dismal knowledge is better than ignorance. It was a Tuesday when he decided that what would make him feel better was to steal a tube of lipstick.

He had stolen before, but never had the prize meant so much to him. The tube was clutched in his suddenly sweaty hand, inching towards his pocket. He was nearly home free when a large, carefully manicured hand seized his own, holding it up.

"Shoplifting is punishable by law," the woman said firmly in a husky tone.

"I'm so sorry," Angel said desperately. "I won't do it again, I promise. It was a one-time thing…"

The woman was closely examining the item with which he had tried to abscond. "What do you want lipstick for? Your sister?"

"No," he answered truthfully, "it's for me." It was the first time in his life that he'd openly admitted to wearing makeup. Sixteen years of living under his father's rule had done very well to make him ashamed of nearly everything that had ever brought him joy. Not even Aaron had known about this 'weakness,' and they had lived together for months.

The woman was shaking her head ruefully, and he readied himself for another impromptu sermon on proper masculine behavior. "You know," the woman began, "this isn't really your color at all." She placed the tube back on the shelf, picking up another in a different shade. "Now, this one…this is going to bring out your eyes." She tore delicately through the wrapping, opening the tube. "Open up," she instructed.

Baffled, he did as he was told as she carefully applied her chosen shade to his lips. "Yes," she nodded her head, "perfect, just like I thought." Pursing her own painted lips, she reached to the counter behind him, pulling up a few small containers. "Nails, eyes, cheeks," she instructed. "You know how to use them all?"

Shyly, still uncomprehending, Angel shook his head. "My father never let me," he admitted.

She tsked in disapproval, shaking her head. "Come on," she said in a friendly voice, "it's my lunch break. I'll teach you everything you need to know."

"Wait," Angel said, still confused. "Why aren't you arresting me?"

The woman winked, using one long fingernail to pull up the tiniest corner of…was she wearing a wig? "Got to help a sister out," she teased.

Angel had never been one to be frugal, with any part of herself. Once the door was opened a fraction of an inch, it was easier than breathing to believe in trust and goodness again. Of course it was natural; it was in her nature to believe. Once she found herself, she never hesitated to give. Besides…what did she have to lose?


End file.
